


Challenges

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A bookstore, a bar, great beer, a first time.





	Challenges

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Challenges by Te

ArchiveX: 17 July 1998  
Challenges  
Te  
May 1998  
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner belong to 1013 Productions, Fox, and, the man himself, Chris Carter. I'm way too poor to be worth suing, folks. Have mercy.  
Rating's Note: Rated NC-17 for m/m interaction and some questionable language.  
Spoilers: <<Chortle>>  
Summary: A bookstore, a bar, great beer, a first time. M/Sk.  
Author's Note: Never say never. This story came out of a letter exchange with JiM in which I was complaining most bitterly about her continued abuse of Krycek. She had the gall to bring up my own... ahem... Skinner issues. Basically, this is in response to her "Put up or shut up." Well, I'm putting up. Mulder/Skinner. No one dies, no one gets maimed, no one gets drugged, no one gets tied to anything, no one even chips a friggin' nail. Sigh. Sorry, Sister Blue. And, *sob*, Alicia, I never meant to betray *you*! Rest assured that I am well and truly disgusted with myself. So there. Now where's my M/K, JiM?  
Acknowledgments: Thanks go to Dreamerlea, JiM, Dawn *and* CiCi for beta suffering with me and offering what were quite possibly the most ungratefully accepted encouragements *ever*. Thanks also to Viridian5 and Woodinat for the initial assurances about my... um... acting abilities.

* * *

Challenges  
by Te  
All feedback to 

******

Assistant Director Walter Skinner was clenching his jaw rhythmically. Arrayed before him, in all their techni-colored glory, was the New! 

//shouting always shouting//

... Comics rack of the Southeast Book Center. His nephew Timothy's birthday was a mere three days away and he had...

//of course//

... yet to find a suitable gift. This place, this vaulting haven of dust, and spice of aging text had always been good to him. After all, what better gift to appeal to a young man's intelligence, his imagination? Yes, it was barely after 6 p.m., he would find a...

//suitable//

... book for the boy and have the post office wrap it for a 7 p.m. pick-up. And yet, creeping up on the near side of... 

//Old. Too old.//

... middle age, he found that somewhere along the way he'd lost sight of just what a twelve...

//God! I remember him spitting up on my suit jacket...//

... year old boy might like. And so he had wound up here. Yelled at by scores of slickly new comic books, by grimacing steroid studs and pneumatic blondes, and everywhere, *everywhere* was that thinly veiled aura of sexualized brutality that seemed to pass for children's entertainment these days. 

Walter's mouth twisted in a sour grimace as he picked one up at random. Green hair. OK, he could live with that. Twelve pages of lovingly decorated violence in which the characters somehow managed to utter line after line of ludicrously insipid dialogue while shooting energy bolts at each other. That, too, he could accept. But the women... 

Barbie meets the East German Swim Team. No, that wasn't quite right. Aquanet Angels? No, no... ESPN fused with Pent--

"I didn't realize that she was your type, sir."

Not for the first time Walter Skinner fervently wished for enough hair to disguise his blushing ears. Gripping the comic firmly in two hands, examining the extremely blessed young heroine with narrowed eyes... 

//Dear Lord. This is *precisely* the sort of image that will come back to haunt me from that man.//

"Well, Agent Mulder, a date's not a date if she can't hold her own in an arm wrestling match."

//What the *hell* did I just say?//

As it happens, the A.D. had more than enough time to ponder that and carefully replace the offending comic back on the shelf. A stolen glance, hidden by the glare of late afternoon sunlight on his lenses, revealed an apple paused halfway to the younger man's slack mouth.

//Well, Walter. You've effectively shocked the man. Let's see if you can get something useful out of him.//

"Mulder, if you were a twelve year old boy what would you want for your birthday?"

The agent closed his mouth with an audible click. "Sir?"

"I said, if you were a twelve year old bo--"

"Oh, right. Um, Tad Williams."

"Excuse me?"

Mulder studied the as-yet-unbitten apple in his palm as if it could offer some heretofore unrealized answers to the universe. Skinner was trying to figure out if there was, perhaps, a sports memorabilia shop around, but then he'd said--

"Tad Williams. He writes this fusion of science fiction and fantasy. Beautiful prose, fascinating theories, swashbuckling with just enough romance to get those pubescent juices flowing--"

"Agent Mulder--"

"He wrote this great series called "The Dragonbone Chair" but that had a lot of symbolism that a kid probably wouldn't appreciate, plus it was kinda dark so I recommend "Otherland" which has a lot of that post-Gibson Cyberpunk that I know *I'd* like..."

The apple was turning and turning in the still-raised hand, and Skinner let the oddly flat voice wash over him in waves as he watched the long, tapered fingers toy with the fruit. Over and around, and over again, then a sudden dance over the pale knuckles, as the agent, apparently unconsciously, performed an unexpected sleight of hand. There really was no way to keep his thoughts from turning toward idle speculation on the hand's talent. With a sub-vocal growl, the A.D. tore his eyes away from the nimble little show back to his subordinate's face. The broad forehead was creased, hazel eyes misted in thought as he rattled on.

"... Le Guin, "Always Coming Home," like a documentary made by the entire faculty of some liberal arts college drunk on the artifacts of future history and with a huge amount of time on their hands, but then that's really more for..."

What had brought this on? A simple, half-serious request for advice and the floodgates had been opened, a torrent of words spilling and tumbling past that teasingly half-hidden pink tongue, over the even teeth and rushing, rushing over that lush lower lip.

//Why do I always let him lecture me like this?//

//Because it's *interesting*, Walter. You enjoy listening to him, wish you could--//

"... some controversy. Elements of Nietzsche, Foucault, and Rubin inextricably twined within and around Queer Nation's answer to Conan. Fascinating, really. Lust and power, the politics of swollen flesh as applied to the human spirit, which in turn applied itself in microcosm to the state of African-Americans in this country during the Reagan era. True freedom only found with an iron collar latched securely around your thro--"

"Mulder!" The growl was out before he could even come close to banking it. Skinner felt a little guilty when Mulder jumped, the apple hitting the floor with a noticeable thump and rolling a little ways before being stopped by its own stem. Mulder's other hand had found its way to his graceful neck, and his eyes were wide, fully focused on the older man. Walter was again painfully aware that his ears were reddening.

"Mulder... remember who I'm shopping for."

The younger man bent gracefully to retrieve his apple and tucked it away in the ever-present trench before folding his arms and leaning casually against the opposite shelves. Skinner was entirely unsure if it was the sudden sardonic grin, or the fact that the fruit showed barely a sign of disturbing the clean lines of the coat that made his teeth itch in irritation. 

"Well, sir, you know twelve year old boys..."

There was really no good way to answer that, and so Skinner simply made a small, abortive attempt to clench his fists and went back to the original question.

"The Williams book?"

"Wha--? Oh, "Otherland". It's over in the Sci-Fi section. I can show y--"

"No. Really, Agent Mulder, I'll find it for myself. Thank you."

"Of course, sir."

Walter made his way toward the back of the store, hoping fervently that he was headed in the right direction. His own tastes ran towards blithely inaccurate spy thrillers, weighty with incidentals on weaponry and command structure and airily light on symbolism. Those, of course, were situated firmly in the brightly lit front portion of the Book Center. He could feel the younger man's eyes boring through the back of his own overcoat and walked a little faster to escape the image of those long limbs folded so casually behind him. It wasn't long before he found the book in question, and he spared a few moments to flip desultorily through its pages to make sure it was... 

//suitable//

... something that would catch Timothy's interest. Everything from trench warfare to futuristic South African politics to Alice in Wonderland. It was somehow endearing that Mulder would pick something so predictably odd. And the author's photo... 

Well, maybe if Timothy likes it he won't feel so bad about starting to lose his hair five or six years from now. Despite himself, he found himself drawn into the story, only stopping to check his watch when he felt a crick beginning to develop in his neck.

//7:18. Damn, so much for the plan.//

Walter fetched a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. Beginning to move towards the exits, he stopped again briefly and picked up a second copy of Otherland. He had identified rather strongly with Paul Jonas. The post-work rush was grinding slowly to a halt and Walter noticed that he was almost alone in the store. He was halted abruptly by the sight of a man sprawled on the floor in the next aisle. Mulder wet his thumb lazily with a broad swipe of the tongue and turned the page. 

//Oh, my.//

He was, by all appearances, fully absorbed in the small trade paperback. And yet the A.D. found himself surprised by the quiet...

"Sir?"

that interrupted his attempts to decipher the title of the book.

"Oh-- Nothing, Agent Mulder. Just seeing wha--"

"The Oresteia. Klytaemnestra was misunderstood, you know. No one ever really talks about *her* needs..."

The younger man was gearing up for discourse, he could tell. 

//Gotta derail that train of thought.//

"Agent Mulder, I'm getting a drink. Care to join me?"

//Oh, this is a bad idea.//

"... memnon smashed her child's head against the wa-- I'd love to."

Skinner paused to process Mulder's response, blinking a little at the violently divergent images it evoked. The younger man was now looking up at him, with Aeschylus tucked neatly back on the shelf. 

After another moment of drinking in the soothingly bland expectancy of the other man, Walter reached out a hand to help him up. Mulder's grip was strong and there was something viscerally satisfying about the weight of the man on his bicep.

And then they were standing eye to eye, and the chafe of the other man's fingers sliding over his hand made him swallow.

//What did you expect? Him to jerk away from you like a hot stove? Maybe do a little dance? Pat you manfully on the shoulder and belch?//

Mulder quirked a brow at the other man's sigh but said nothing. He backed away from the older man and took up another lean against the shelves.

//Variations on a sprawl?//

Skinner shook his head and made his way towards the counter. He paid cash for the books and they made their way out into the darkening evening. Mulder stretched languorously, swiveling lean hips almost imperceptibly to work the last kinks out. 

"So..."

"Yes, Mulder?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"There's a quiet place not too far from here... unless you have any preferences?"

"Sounds fine." Mulder gestured toward their cars with an unreadable little smile. "I'll follow where you lead, sir."

******

They went to a place right on the border between Southeast and Northwest. It was small, but skillfully decorated to give the illusion of space. The bar itself was clearly new, the dim lighting causing the wood to gleam mellowly with no noticeable water stains. 

Mulder and Skinner entered together and stood for a moment at the door, the younger man casually studying the room. At this hour it was about half full, the clientele made up exclusively of middle-aged businessmen, small groups of tired-looking men surrounding an assortment of shot glasses and steins. There was a low murmur of conversation, loud enough to be noticeable, but not demanding any adjustment to the agents' own level of speech.

"Bar or table, sir?"

"Well, the bar stools aren't especially comfortable. Why don't we get a table?"

"Sure."

"Oh, and Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"Can we leave the office at the office? Lose the *sir*."

The younger man grinned wickedly as he led the way to a small table at the back of the room. "Anything you say, Walter." 

There was a hint of a drawl in the way Mulder said his name, Skinner decided. Just enough to cause him to focus his attention on the retreating back, yet nowhere near enough to give him an excuse to call the other man on it.

//He's too good at this; whatever this is. God, what am I doing here?//

He curtly shook off his thoughts and headed for the bar, an inexplicable impulse leading him to order an old favorite.

"Maudite, Walter? Are you trying to tell me something?"

The older man pretended to study the label of the tall bottle in his hand. In the foreground, an image of a winged and smirking devil studied him right back, daring him to shift his attention to the lovingly realized canoe behind the imp. In it, eight men rowed powerfully through a red sky, down, down, down. All were apparently quite desperate to achieve their own damnation.

//Walter Skinner. Master of the subtle seduction.//

"Not particularly, Mulder. It's an old favorite of mine. Ever had it?"

"No, actually. I suppose there's a first time for everything, though." 

The older man efficiently removed the cork, letting the cool drift of air from the bottle caress his thumb, and handed it to Mulder before opening his own. 

The agent eschewed the glass in front of him and took a large swallow. "Mmm... that's good. Not too heavy."

"Like it? Good. Be careful, though. It's about twice as strong as most beer."

"Trying to get me drunk, Walter?"

With that, the A.D. finally lifted his eyes to meet those of his companion. They were dominated by a humorous gleam, but the mirth did little to hide the frank air of speculation Mulder exuded.

After pouring his own beer in the stein, Walter undid the cuffs of his shirt and made a point of being deliberate and exact about rolling the sleeves up. That done, he leaned back in the chair to face Mulder, rested right ankle on left knee, and lifted his glass before answering.

"Why would I want to do that?" It was gratifying to watch the younger man visibly tear his gaze away from his forearm. He briefly considered flexing, but decided it might just be over the top.

//When did I decide to seduce him?//

//Probably midway through Muldersprawl 2a (tm)//

"Presumably so that you could have your wicked, wicked way with me."

"Are you saying that I'd have to get you drunk to do that?"

The immediate retort didn't have quite the desired effect. Mulder's eyes, previously half lidded in a parody of wanton sensuality, flew open in shock. While that in itself wasn't *precisely* an unwelcome reaction, Mulder was also choking -- and simultaneously turning an alarming shade of purple.

"Are you all right?"

"Ye--koff--y-yes."

"Then *breathe,* Mulder."

This, for some reason, sent the younger man off into an explosion of coughing giggles. Walter smiled despite himself at the too-rare display of simple amusement, and gestured to the barmaid for a glass of water. Gradually the other man achieved a semblance of composure. The fascinating flush, however, did not completely recede.

"Jesus, Walter, you really shouldn't spring jokes like that on a man when he's trying to drink."

The older man paused a moment before answering to give Mulder a chance to swallow his water. "Who said I was joking?"

"Wha--"

"You never answered my question, Mulder."

"Your question?"

"Would I have to get you drunk in order to have my -- how did you put it? 'wicked, wicked way' with you."

"Um. Is this a conversation that we should be having?"

"I don't know, Mulder. It seems to me that it's long overdue."

"I see."

Abruptly, Skinner found his gaze caught by the other man's. There was something... something irrevocable about the raw, naked need he was being shown. There were electrified thorns in his belly. 

Shocking, tearing. 

//Yup. I crossed the line, all right.//

"If this makes you uncomfortable we..."

He was cut off by the flare of the younger man's nostrils, and the furious rasp of his voice.

"Don't you *dare* back down from this."

The rational part of Skinner's mind wanted to break in at this point. A carefully chilled tone, the simple words "From what?," and perhaps this...

//*this*//

... could still be averted. However, there was... 

//honey//

... something inescapable in the emotional shifts of the younger man's eyes. Rage, lust, terror, and... 

Humor?

"Besides. I never got the opportunity to answer your question."

Mulder raised the bottle to his lips again, leaned back and drank long and deep. When he was done, he placed the bottle down on the table again, and leaned as far into Walter's personal space as he could.

"So what's the answer?" The older man's question was breathless and husky. Skinner reflected that he wouldn't be very shocked at all if Mulder just crawled onto and across the far-too-short expanse of wood and straight into his lap.

"The answer is... no. No, you wouldn't have to get me drunk, Walter. You never did. I want..."

"What do you want?"

Mulder grinned wolfishly. "What do I want? You know what I want, Walter. The question is, am I going to get it? What do *you* want? To do with me. For me To--"

"Enough!" Walter was grateful that the thorns inside him took most of the volume from his hoarse growl. "We're leaving. My place. Now." 

Without another word he stood, ripped an unseen bill from his wallet and turned to go. Before he'd reached the exit he felt the heat of the younger man's presence behind him and something very old, and very, very dark within him smiled.

******

It was all right on the walk to the cars, despite the spike in his pants. It was all right on the silent drive to Crystal City, despite the white noised haze threatening to descend over his vision. It was even all right when he'd made his way to the elevator and had to wait for a quiet stretch of eternity for the younger man to join him. A brief stab of worry that Mulder had changed his mind crumbled to ash with the simple realization that if the other man backed out he would just have to throw him across his desk tomorrow and fuck him senseless. 

However, once the elevator doors had closed on the two of them, Mulder had thrown himself at him with an almost frightening abandon. The result of that move had him here, back to the wall, tongue assailing his mouth thoroughly, and a 6 foot tall... 

//beautiful//

... lunatic apparently trying to crawl right through his suit and into his skin. 

//I did this to him.//

The thought made Skinner give an animal groan into the other man's mouth, and he tore his hands from the brass railing digging into his spine to grab at the wool-clad bottom of the other man, pulling him against his bucking hips. The action tore a strangled gasp from Mulder's throat, finally breaking their kiss. Skinner watched in helpless lust as the younger man threw his head back, exposing that glorious pale... 

//iron collar//

... throat. It was irresistible. He buried his teeth in the other man's neck in a vicious bite...

"Ahhh... Fuck, yes!"

... and instantly the slim hips in his grasp were alive, with short, stabbing thrusts against his aching groin that demanded, and received, an answer. He eased the pressure on the other man's neck, sucking, lapping, tasting blood and groaning against the wound. Mulder was making incoherent little noises, whimpers and moans that went straight to Skinner's cock.

//I could come like this, right here, in my pants.//

The chime that announced the seventeenth floor spared him from that ignominy by the simple expedient of jolting back the shreds of his sanity. He tore himself away from the younger man, absolutely positive that the look of dazed lust on Mulder's face was mirrored on his own. 

"God. Walter..."

"Yeah, let's just go..."

They made it inside Skinner's apartment, but as soon as Mulder shut the door behind him the older man was there, with one hand braced to either side of his head. Mulder tried to arch his body against him, but he kept just out of reach. Walter teased himself with a game of control, fascinated that he had any willpower left at all with the other man collapsed against his door, panting and struggling almost instinctively for contact, and wondering how long he could possibly keep it. 

The answer came with the touch of spidery fingers against his trapped erection, wringing a gasp from his lips and dragging them inexorably to Mulder's. Walter thrust into the welcoming palm and allowed himself to get lost in the plush and heady sweetness of the other man's mouth before snaking his own hand down to Mulder's trousers. He quickly released the younger man's pulsing cock from within his boxers and stroked him roughly, catching sobs with his mouth. The sensations were intoxicating, crisp curls scraping his knuckles, slickness and heat coating his palm, cries echoing...

"No. No... no... no..."

When the essence of the words finally pierced the fog of his mind, Walter felt doused with icewater. He froze mid-stroke, and jerked his head away.

"Mulder... Oh god, do you want me to stop?" 

"No... yes... more... don't stop. I need more..."

The flood of relief threatened to turn Skinner's knees liquid.

"How much more?"

Mulder finally stopped writhing and opened his eyes. The glitter of...

//dragon//

... green fire was preternaturally visible in the almost totally dark apartment. Walter quickly broke eye contact to dive for Mulder's elegant ear, ending the light rasp of his tongue with a nip to the soft lobe.

"How much more, Mulder? Tell me how you want it."

"Oh, Christ..."

Skinner squeezed the base of the rigid cock in his hand harshly.

"Tell me."

"Fuck! Fuck me, Walter... right here..."

The words seemed to be on a direct circuit to his hand and he gripped him hard once more, pumping unconsciously as the meaning sunk in. The younger man thrust mindlessly into his fist, all the while batting weakly at Walter's hand.

"Stop... please, I need you inside me."

"Shh... I will be. We need lubrication." And with that Skinner claimed the other man's mouth again, sliding his free hand through the short hairs on the back of his neck and using his other to establish a rhythm that would bring Mulder off quickly. 

A flip of his thumb on the weeping head of Mulder's cock and the younger man wrenched his head back, slamming against the door in a way that made Walter wince in sympathy, but Mulder seemed oblivious to the pain. 

A chorus of curses and pleas bathed the older man's ears in Mulder's arousal and he watched unblinkingly as the agent whipped his head back and forth in heedless denial, hips thrusting up into the circle of Walter's slick palm. 

The older man swallowed a groan at the sight.

"Come for me. I need you to come for me now, Mulder..."

Skinner could feel a powerful pulse as the younger man grew almost imperceptibly larger for a moment, and he throbbed in response. The anguished cry of Mulder's orgasm threatened to bring the white noised static over his vision again, but he held fast against it, spinning the other man to face the door. 

He braced an arm around Mulder's waist to hold him steady while the younger man positioned his limbs, and Walter slid his other hand between their bodies to finally release his own erection. The insertion of a slick finger past the tight ring of muscle earned him a gasp, and Walter paused.

"You OK?"

"Y-yeah... just hurry..."

The older man worked quickly and gently, stretching and twisting before slipping out to gather more of the swiftly cooling semen on Mulder's chest and belly. He steadfastly ignored the increasing pants and sobs for the sake of his concentration, but when Mulder started to shamelessly fuck himself on his hand... 

"Are you ready for me?"

"Now, Walter, do it now..."

He thrust in with a steady rocking motion, spitting on his palm for more lubrication, but unable to make himself pause for more than a few seconds after each stroke until he had worked all the way in. 

Tightness and heat... powerful muscles working him with as little mercy as consciousness.

There was a... 

//rightness//

... sense of completion to the moment and he tried to make it last, wrapping his arms around the younger man again and tasting the salt of his neck. He let his fingers roam the hot expanse of flesh, taking a moment to toe off his shoes and helping Mulder with his own, the strange intimacy of his foot against the clothed tangle of the other man's ankle thrilling beyond even the excruciating shift of his sheathed cock. 

When his tongue found the bruise of his earlier bite, the inner contractions found a brief rhythm, and then Mulder was pulling himself off slowly. One hand found the younger man hard again and Mulder picked up speed and force, ramming himself down and back and Walter was lost.

Memories, fantasies, waking dreams tore and spun themselves through the older man's mind. Oppressive heat and the musk of a young man writhing beneath him on the springy softness of never drying mud... 

... that night when Sharon teasingly brought out the restraints... 

... the shameful joy of a quick blow job through a glory hole, puddled and filthy tile ruining his best suit pants and...

... none of it, none of it could compare to the bounty he was immersed in now, the glorious gift of molten velvet taking him again and again, welcoming him in fire and love and when he grasped the bouncing, and newly rigid cock in his hand, Mulder screamed his name, and the hoarse flatness was the most gorgeous thing he had ever heard and it washed it all away in violent waves and...

//love.//

When it was over, Walter held the man as close as he could, stroking the trembling arms, and only kissing when the soft nuzzles brought his lips in contact with the pale skin. Mulder leaned into his touches, and they stood there for a while, until the flushed dampness grew too chill and clammy to be borne. 

Walter gently, gently eased himself out of the other man and grappled with pants that had, amazingly, remained around his hips. When Mulder bent to do the same, however, the older man grabbed him and kissed him long and tenderly, doing it again when he tried to speak.

"Stay..."

"Are you sure?" The eyes were soaked in the dark of his apartment, unreadable.

"I'm sure."

******

All Feedback to . Don't worry, there'll be a body count in the next one, I *swear*.


End file.
